Ecko Rising

Ecko had only ever seen this stuff in movies – it was an agoraphobic’s worst nightmare, emptiness more than anyone could fucking stand. It was more sky and wind and grass than he could get his head round, and, frankly, it was freaking him out.

It made him feel so fucking small.

He knew he was holding them back, there was way too much to deal with.

His first problem was called a “chearl” – it had a bad attitude and a sloping back and a Mohawk mane and a tail like a bog brush. Sitting on it nearly sawed him in half, but he was determined not to quit.

How hard could riding the damn thing really be, for chrissakes? It wasn’t like it had an engine.

His second problem was the dust. The road was busy – heaving, compared to the population of the city – and dust from feet and hooves and wheels devil-danced like chaff across the roadways. Oddly, though it coated his lips and teeth, it lessened his feeling of exposure. It was soft, it diffused the sun and sheltered him from the godalmighty space that lurked, endless and featureless, behind the roadside buildings. As he rode the blade-line that cut the prairie in half, it billowed in his wake.

His third problem? His butt hurt.

But he kept his trap shut and rode on.

To one side of them, the bizarre ribbon of township rose and fell, in and out of the plainland – a thin, poor stretch of deadwood offering inns, pubs and whorehouses, general stores and rickety stalls. They further they rode, the poorer it became – sun bleached and tumbledown. He could hear voices, calling to the mass of travellers, asking them to stop and trade.

Ecko watched, kinda hoping for goblins. Some of these places so looked like there’d be an ambush – please? He flicked his oculars, mode to mode, twitched his fingers restlessly...

...but the goblins had packed their little green goblin bags, only the hobos and the winos remained.

Eventually, the township thinned, spotted and finally dissolved altogether, melted by the heat and trickling into the cracked and dusty roadside.

The neck of Ecko’s beast was decorated with intricate whorls of stink, he didn’t need his heatseeker to see the shimmer that came off its hide. As the pain in his spine and thighs increased, he became steadily more unfocused. He didn’t sweat and his poreless skin struggled with the ceaseless beating of the sun, the open air, the endless wind, the changes in food and sleep. He’d’ve sold his fucking soul for a can of chilled fizz. Slowly, the pain, the heat, the motion of the chearl, the rippling grass, drifted one into another, and all into a blur.

* * *

At the edge of the ruin, Ecko crouched still. His skin was ash and charcoal, his cloak loosed like a live thing, folds flickered like shadows in the evening breeze.

Behind him, Pareus and the ten members of his patrol. Most bore bows and short spears, a couple had small, round shields buckled to their forearms. They were fast on their feet, lightly armed skirmishers – and they were suddenly taking this the fuck seriously.

Playtime’s over.

They watched the township, and Pareus for orders. Ecko remained still for a long moment, oculars scanning every burned-out building, every crumbling wall, every broken cart and corpse – then he raced forwards, sharp and swift, barely stirring the ash as he went.

One dead corporate, two dead corporate...

He counted twenty-two before they came after him. Small units, archers and shieldmen together, the spears working in threes. They were noisy on their feet, but they were well trained and sheer, cold terror was making them focus. Not one of them spoke.

As Pareus directed them, they scuttled nervously outwards into charred remnants of buildings, ruined streets. They took cover where they could and occasionally shuddered as they passed something familiar, death curled on blasted soil.

Those kids were getting one helluva wake-up call.

Ahead of them, barely a wisp of darkness, Ecko was unarmed – he didn’t need that shit anyhow. His targeters cross-hatched empty windows, likely cover, possible threat – he moved from stealth-crouch to stealth- crouch with accomplished ease.

He may be cussing the absence of wrecked cars, but this shit? He knew backwards.

He paused at the base of a cracked and roofless wall, kicked a charred skull from under his feet, shreds of skin still clinging to the jawline. He listened to the hiss of superheated air, the creaking of damaged timbers.

As the colours in his skin shifted with the sky, the stone, he watched.

Pareus was good, tightly focused like he was too terrified to fuck up. He was blade in hand, low and alert, watching the units of his patrol and the ground ahead of him. His second, Tarvi, was wide-eyed at the devastation. There was a smudge of tears and dirt down the side of her face, but her focus echoed his – she held her terror in rigid check.

The Bard’s preaching Ragnarok – and this is our fucking army? He addressed the silent sky, bright and blue as though it didn’t give a shit. Jeez, Eliza, we’re screwed.

Eliza made no response.

As Tarvi came past him, spearman to each side of her, Ecko slipped out to follow.

* * *

Water. Dripping, annoying, cold.

His hand lashed out. There was a feminine squeak and a bark of laughter.

Spitting, he sat up.

He was crumpled at the base of a grassy bank – the air was cooling, there was fire-warmth to one side. Crouched by him was one of the grunts, a small, dark-haired woman with a sunburned nose. His first thought: she’s cute. His second: what the hell was he doing down here?

For no apparent reason, his head was full of fire. Chrissakes, had he been dreaming, already?

A couple of the goons stood over them, grinning. One of them shoved a wooden bowl of glop at him. When he tried to move, every muscle shrieked protest and he sat back with a stifled groan.

The girl smiled. “You’re sun-touched. You’ve stopped sweating. Here.” She passed him a waterskin. “There’s salt in the food – you’ll need it.”

His mind was struggling with the concept of dreaming – a dream within the program, that was fucked up. He shook his head, flicked through ocular modes, squinted skywards to see threads of cloud through the gathering dusk. He felt like shit.

“How the hell do you know what I need?”

She blinked, withdrew. “I’m Tarvi, I look after the health of these idiots. Pareus, our tan, you know, the rest of them –”

“Don’t bother.” He sat up this time, took three mouthfuls of lukewarm water and started on the glop with a grimace.

Determined to be friendly, she smiled at him. Her voice sparkled. “We’ll head back to the city at the end of our patrol, take you to Larred Jade.”

Round a mouthful of food, he said, “Great.”

“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” She was bugging him, completely unfazed by his skin, his eyes, his teeth. Her hair shone with red highlights in the setting sun.

And he had no fucking clue why he’d just noticed that. He scalded his lips on another tasteless mouthful and turned away.

Around him was a small, flat campsite, defended by a low bank. The squad had put up a lean-to and a scatter of tents, though most of them were gathered with the critters at one corner. As Ecko glanced, one of them threw a bucket of slop water over his mate.

“We’re making good time,” Tarvi said. Greatly daring, she brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. “Doesn’t that hurt?” His skin shone at her touch.

He snarled at her. “Yeah, I’m a freakshow.”

Not waiting for her hurt expression, he stretched, heard his joints pop and crackle. He felt like he’d been kicked round Wembley fucking Stadium. Picking up glop and waterskin, he shambled over to the fire.

Fire. He’d been dreaming about fire. Detonation. Power...